


a song we'll never forget

by polyamory



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Ambiguous/Open Ending, BAMF Lydia Martin, Concerts, F/F, M/M, Morning After, POV Allison Argent, Smut, Strangers to Lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-21
Updated: 2016-07-21
Packaged: 2018-07-25 20:28:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7546545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/polyamory/pseuds/polyamory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Lydia, this is Allison."<br/>"Allison, hm?" There's a strange glint in Lydia's eyes – or maybe it's just the red strobe lights.<br/>"Hi," Allison shuffles, waves awkwardly and curses herself almost as soon as she does it. The thing is, Lydia is really very beautiful, even more beautiful than she had seemed on stage and Allison is not prepared.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a song we'll never forget

**Author's Note:**

> hope you like this!! i love allydia and i actually wrote smut ?! amazing lmk what you think!!
> 
> also just to clear up, the first paragraph is an article allison writes abt the performance for the school newspaper

 

> _“Singing Bloody Murder”_ _by Allison Argent_
> 
> _A small warehouse bathed in red light. On the stage a woman sings about misery and anger and being wild. That is "Banshee And Her Wolves", a Californian folk punk band that has garnered quite a bit of attention in the last couple of months. Though their gigs have so far stayed small and intimate, letting the audience connect directly with the plight and the pains of the singer, their following in the folk punk scene is steadily growing. "Banshee And Her Wolves" consists of lead singer Lydia Martin, the twins Ethan and Aiden (no last names) as bass and lead guitar respectively, Jackson Whittemore playing the drums, and Danny Māhealani at the keyboard. The band is known for their dramatic and captivating shows and personal lyrics, a refreshing change after hearing the umpteenth love ballad sung by some starlet with no real connection to the lyrics. Lydia Martin, who writes all her texts herself, delivers them in an intense soprano that leaves the listener in the silence between songs waiting for the next note. There is something almost playful in the singer's range of style. Sometimes it is nothing more than a hushed whisper, other times she screams, cries, shrieks and wails, earning her name as the Banshee, the Wailing Woman. But consistent throughout her songs, Lydia Martin sings like an open wound. She gifts her listener with a deep, unsettling honesty which they cannot help but to return and at the end of the night you will find that this band, this woman has touched something deep inside of you. And that is what music is truly about._

 

Allison isn't a groupie but she thinks she could become one for the woman standing on stage, haloed in red light and singing with all her soul.

"They call me a girl, the girl that runs with the wolves but what they don't know is that the wolves run with me."

Scott bumps her shoulder fighting for a place next to her in the shifting crowd.

"They're amazing, aren't they?" he calls over the music.

"Yeah," Allison says, not actually loud enough for him to here. She can't take her eyes off the woman. She isn't so much singing as wailing, crying, sometimes outright screaming. It's intense in a way Allison hasn't experienced in a long time. She loves it.

"How did you say you know them again?" she shouts in Scott's ear.

"I went to school with Lydia and Danny, he's the one at the keyboard."

Lydia. It's a musical name, fits her.

"Oh," Scott croons with laughter in his voice. "You like her!"

"Shut up, okay?" she laughs, hits him in the shoulder hard. "She's hot, yeah."

"Well, I know for a fact she's single," Scott grins, his eyes sparkling in the red light.

Allison rolls her eyes at him, more for show than anything else because, yeah, she's definitely interested and if Scott can introduce her to this woman she's not gonna pass up the chance.

"But for now," Scott says and takes her by the hand, "let's dance!"

A new song starts playing, heavy bass vibrating in the air, in Allison's chest, pulsing in time with her heart and this, this right here is why she loves music.

"We are the wolves of Ragnarok! Ragnarok, Rag– Ragnarok! We are the wolves of Ragnarok."

She loses herself in the crowd, in the movement, the hypnotic press of bodies all around her. "And when the great wolf Fenrir jumps up to swallow the sun." It's a heady feeling, like she's part of something bigger and when the two guys playing the bass and guitar step up next to Lydia and roar into the mic with her Allison lets herself be swept up in it, screams with the crowd.

"We are the wolves of Ragnarok! Ragnarok, Rag– Ragnarok! And when Thor falls dead from the venom of Jormungandr. We are the wolves of Ragnarok! Rag– Ragnarok, Rag– Ragnarok!"

Her throat feels raw by the end of the song but she feels unstoppable, like electricity coursing through her body.

She's lost sight of Scott somewhere in between, but she's not worried. They'll find each other by the end of the night.

There's a break in the noise, a pause between songs and when Lydia starts singing again her voice rings high and clear through the warehouse, no instruments accompanying her.

"Some days you'll feel like screaming just to drown out the noise. Some days you'll feel like crying just to see if you can drown in it. Some days you'll feel like breaking everything. So scream," she screams, long and high, "until the windows burst. Scream until the bubble bursts. They'll slit my throat but I'll still scream."

The room falls silent as the last word echoes out, like the whole crowd is holding their breath. Lydia's chest is heaving and finally she says, with a flippant smile, "Thank you, Beacon Hills!"

The songs they play are angry, defiant, with a fast pace and Lydia almost snarling the words. But then in between, there are songs that're soft, melancholic and so, so sad. And sometimes they're both.

"He won't leave me alone. He follows me into my dreams, into my mind. He just won't let me go. He just won't let me go." Lydia sings it as if every word is being pulled from her, all hard t's and bared teeth. One hand is pressed to her side and her eyes are closed as if she's forgotten all about the crowd she's supposed to sing for.

Allison is absolutely enchanted.

 

"Lydia!" Scott calls, dragging Allison along with him.

Lydia turns at hearing her name, with the vaguely disinterested air of someone who's name is called out a lot by a lot of unimportant people. Her face brightens when she catches sight of Scott in the crowd.

"Scott! Or is it 'Doctor' now?" She pulls him down into a hug, leaving a red lipstick stain on his cheek.

Scott rubs his neck in that embarrassed way that means he's blushing. "Almost," he grins. "Oh, there's someone I'd like you to meet."

"It's not that Stalker-linski boy again is it?" Lydia says with a face as if she's been forced to gargle with spoiled milk.

"No, no. Um, she's a friend of mine," He tugs on Allison's hand and pushes her forward. "Lydia, this is Allison."

"Allison, hm?" There's a strange glint in Lydia's eyes – or maybe it's just the red strobe lights.

"Hi," Allison shuffles, waves awkwardly and curses herself almost as soon as she does it. The thing is, Lydia is really very beautiful, even more beautiful than she had seemed on stage and Allison is not prepared.

"I hope you liked our performance," Lydia says, with the grin of a shark. If sharks had dimples.

"Loved it, actually," Allison says with a smile of her own, because two can play at this dimple game and she knows for a fact she has some world class dimples.

It seems to work because Lydia links their arms and starts leading Allison away. "Really? What was your favorite part then?"

Allison looks over her shoulder at Scott who's talking to Danny, the tall one who'd played the keyboard, but he catches her eye and gives her a big thumbs up and his dopiest grin. She grins back. They are so getting laid tonight.

 

Lydia leads her to the band bus, introduces her briefly to the rest of the band – "Jackson, Ethan, Aiden, this is Allison we're gonna have sex, stay at your own risk." – before pulling her further into the bus to the bunk beds.

"Welcome to my humble abode," Lydia says, waving at the bunks. Allison can only imagine the horrors that hide behind those drawn curtains. "This one's mine," Lydia points up to the third story bed.

"Nice, I haven't had sex in a bunk bed since high school," Allison grins.

"I haven't had sex in a real bed since high school," Lydia retorts, backing Allison up against the wall. "I suppose once more won't hurt," she muses, tilting her head up to catch Allison's mouth in a kiss.

"Once?" Allison laughs when they break apart, breathless.

"I like you, Allison," Lydia says and Allison hasn't known her for very long but even so she can tell that it means a great deal more coming from Lydia.

"I bet you say that to all the girls."

"Just the ones that look like they can handle themselves in a knife fight."

Allison doesn't try to deny it. Lydia smiles, pushing her hands up under Allison's shirt. In seconds she's unfastened Allison's bra – one of the many advantages to having sex with girls, no awkward hour-long fumbling with bra clasps – and then she's tugging Allison's shirt off. Her bra falls to the floor.

She reaches for the hem of Lydia's dress but Lydia steps away, pressing her lips together as if to suppress a grin. "Let's take this upstairs," she says.

Allison doesn't need much help hoisting herself up but Lydia insists, though Allison supposes it has more to do with the way her ass looks in these jeans than it does with any actual safety concerns. Not that she minds Lydia's hand on her ass.

Lydia follows her up and without wasting a second pushes Allison gently down onto the mattress. She leans over her, hair falling like a thick curtain between the two of them and the rest of the world.

Lydia's skin is soft under Allison's hands, her lips even softer, and they kiss, long and languid, as if they have all the time in the world.

Allison's never been a fan of waiting.

"Come _on_ ," she gasps when Lydia trails kisses down her neck, no doubt leaving a trail of red marks.

"Impatient, are you?" Lydia presses a grin against Allison's collarbone, as if she could sharpen her teeth on the jut of Allison's bone. Her hands skim down Allison's stomach and unbutton her jeans. Allison lifts her hips, but Lydia doesn't even pull her jeans down, just snakes one hand under the waistband and into Allison's boxers and then time stops flowing regularly.

One moment she's moaning, clutching at Lydia's shoulders and the next she's

listening to Lydia whisper filthy things into her ear, breathing in the smell of Lydia's perfume and then she's

coming, arching her back so her chest rubs against Lydia's, still fully dressed, and she's

kissing Lydia's swollen, sweet mouth and Lydia's tugging at her jeans and disappearing downwards and Allison mourns the absence of her lips but then her lips are there again just not on Allison's mouth this time and she's

grabbing at the bed sheets, tangling her hands in Lydia's hair, anything she can reach and she's

coming again, breathless and almost too much but Lydia's murmuring to her, how beautiful she looks and Allison drags her eyelids open to smile at Lydia and then Lydia drags her down onto the bed and she's asleep.

 

Allison wakes, groggily, and with the overwhelming sensations that she _can't move_. She's also wonderfully sore and tingly so she's not too worried. It's definitely too early for open eyes, though, so she tries to take stock of her surroundings with her other senses. She can feel her jeans tangled around her calves, she never managed to take them off all the way, but both her top and bra are conspicuously absent. She doesn't really mind cause there's a warm arm slung over her chest and Lydia is puffing little breaths against her shoulder. Her legs are, well to be honest she can't really tell what's her legs and what's Lydia's, they're so tangled up.

Seems like Lydia is a nighttime cuddler, a secret wereoctopus.

Allison tightens her arm around Lydia's shoulder and goes back to sleep.

When she next wakes up there's a pair of eyes staring at her over the edge of the bunk bed and above the eyes is a forehead and above that is a perfectly gelled wave of hair. Then the eyes-forehead-hair disappear and a moment later she can hear someone say, "Well, something's awake in there. Definitely saw a pair of eyes, anyone's guess though who they belong to. I think there were more than eight limbs in that tangle."

Allison tries to move with the vague goal of disentangling herself, but all she manages is to twitch three fingers of her right hand – the other two are asleep – and roll her head around so she's looking down at an ocean of red hair, and somewhere beneath it Lydia's head.

"Lydia," she whispers, "Lydia, wake up. I think your friends are waiting for us."

"Ain't no friends o' mine that wake me up this early," Lydia grumbles back, not lifting her head or giving any other indication that she's awake.

Allison laughs and Lydia shifts and grumbles some more when the movement disturbs her head resting on Allison's chest. She turns so she's laying half on top of Allison, her face buried in the crook of Allison's neck.

"Let them wait," she mumbles and presses her lips to Allison's throat.

"Let them eat cake," Allison whispers back, smiling at the ceiling.

Lydia buries what might be a laugh in Allison's skin, right next to the smudged lipstick marks covering her neck, chest and half her face. "I've always wanted to wear a hoop skirt."

"They're not very comfortable," Allison says, which finally makes Lydia raise her head. She props her chin on Allison's chest and raises an eyebrow. "My family's French. There may have been," she stops, considers how to say this without ruining all chances of going on an actual date with Lydia–

"Renaissance fairs?" Lydia asks.

"Marie Antoinette didn't live in the Renaissance," Allison replies, raising her eyebrow in turn. "It was more like, more or less historically inaccurate reenactments of the French Revolution."

"So, a bunch of girls saw the Kirsten Dunst movie and wanted to play dress up and feel fancy," Lydia translates not inaccurately.

"To be fair, it was hosted on the grounds of Versailles so at least that was fairly accurate."

"So, French?" Lydia grins.

"If you make a joke about French kissing I swear I will throw you off this bed," Allison laughs.

From somewhere in the front of the bus someone calls, "We can hear you laughing, love birds! Get out of bed or someone'll come and make you!"

"Looks like the people of France are getting impatient."

"Well, then we better give them what they want."

They manage to disentangle themselves with Allison only _almost_ falling out of the bunk bed and Lydia gracefully sliding down with an ease that speaks to years of practice.

Lydia pulls up her bra strap, fluffs her hair and wipes away a stray smudge of lipstick and Allison, yeah, Allison doesn't even try to look presentable, just buttons her jeans and pulls on her shirt, stuffing her bra in her back pocket.

Someone wolf-whistles when they walk into the common area.

Allison is only marginally surprised to find Scott still there, sitting on, she's pretty sure that's Danny's lap. She raises her eyebrows at him significantly and he raises his right back. Fair's fair.

Lydia pulls her down onto the bench next to her, slinging an arm casually around Allison's shoulder.

Danny waves at her from around Scott's shoulder. "You're Allison, right? Scott's friend?"

"Yeah, that's me," she smiles.

"Nice to meet you, I'm Danny." And then he reaches over to shake her hand as if she hasn't just fallen out of Lydia's bed and will be gone within the hour.

"Danny's the only one who actually has manners," Lydia adds. "These are Jackson, Ethan and Aiden," she points at each of them in turn. Ethan and Aiden glower at her. Jackson is too busy glowering at Scott. They all look the same in that way jacked up jocks with access to hair gel look alike to Allison.

"Anyway, didn't somebody promise me breakfast?" Lydia goes on before Allison has to come up with something to say.

As if summoned by Lydia's demands – never mind that nobody ever actually said anything about breakfast – the door to the bus opens and in clamber four people, probably brought together by their love for leather jackets, Allison thinks.

"Derek, just in time," Lydia smiles as the man who must be Derek hands over bags full of baked goods. Lydia snags two croissants, one of which she hands over to Allison, and then dumps the contents unceremoniously onto the table.

Nobody seems to mind this much and, in fact, moments later there's nothing more but crumbs on the table, as all the boys clutch croissants to their chests with a wild gleam in their eyes singular to college students presented with free food.

Then there's a lot of awkward shuffling around as everyone tries to make space for the newcomers to sit. There isn't much space in the half-round booth to begin with so it ends with everybody tightly squished together and Lydia sitting on Allison's lap. This doesn't make Allison feel more in control of the situation, in fact she thinks the only reason she isn't sitting on Lydia's lap is that Lydia simply wouldn't be able to see over her head.

Derek scoots into the booth next to them, pulling a skittish, skinny boy down next to him.

"Allison, Scott," Lydia says, waving her hands with the air of a queen holding court, "these are Derek, Isaac," the boy next to Derek waves, his elbows knocking against his knees, "Boyd, and Erica." Erica is sitting on Boyd's lap, there seems to be a trend here called lack of personal space, and she smiles at Allison, waving like a witch might wave at hungry children from the door of her gingerbread house. Boyd, with an arm wrapped around Erica's waist and the other wrapped around Isaac's shoulder gives her a solemn nod. He doesn't seem interested in eating, even though Erica offers him her croissant, but that might just be that she would fall off his lap without him holding her there.

"They're our technical crew. Usually they're more talkative," Lydia continues, turning to Allison instead of addressing the room at large, "it's just too early, not their best time."

"You know that's not true," Danny scoffs with a grin.

"Maybe I'm just trying not to scare her away," Lydia grins back.

"Good luck with that," Erica laughs.

"How long are we staying in town?" Derek cuts in, looking distinctly uncomfortable.

There's a moment of silence as they all seem to consider, even Jackson takes a break from trying to kill Scott with the power of his stare.

"Well, I don't know about you," Lydia starts, "but I think I'd like to stay for a few days, have a look around, you know, for old times' sake. Visit the high school, avoid my mother, see how the town's changed."

"All in favor say 'aye'," Erica grins and there's a chorus of 'aye's, even Jackson joins in, although he's rolling his eyes in a way that communicates to everyone that he is far above all this.

"So are you all from Beacon Hills?" Allison asks and immediately regrets it when all eyes turn on her. It's not like she's particularly shy, except when it counts and these people are Lydia's friends and they're obviously all very close and Allison has the distinct impression that if they don't like her it will be very much like living in a building where the landlord hates your guts. She tries to hide behind Lydia's hair.

"All of us, except for Ethan and Aiden, they only moved to Beacon Hills in junior year, but the rest of us are born and raised," Erica says.

Allison looks accusingly at Scott. "You told me you only went to school with Lydia and Danny."

This makes Danny laugh for some reason and Scott crinkles his nose in embarrassment.

"Well, they're the only two people I really talked to," he admits, glancing at Jackson – and then away again when he finds Jackson already glowering at him – in a way that makes it clear to Allison that there's some kind of history there. Scott never really talks that much about high school.

"Speaking of which," Lydia perks up, "do you still talk to Kira?" she asks Scott.

"Oh yeah, she's at UC Berkeley. We skype a lot. Allison knows her too, actually."

"She comes and crashes at our place whenever her roommate sexiles her," Allison says with a fond smile. She likes Kira, not least because she can handle herself in a knife fight and had been willing to teach Allison how to use a sword in return for archery lessons. Also, she can do a bomb French braid. "I think she said something about coming to Beacon Hills the second week of vacation?" Allison adds.

"I'll tell her you asked about her," Scott says to Lydia. "She'll be happy you haven't forgotten her."

"I'll have to call her." Lydia sounds deep in thought and she tightens her hand where it rests over Allison's. She turns around suddenly to look at Allison. "You'll go on a date with me, right?" Derek coughs awkwardly pointedly but Lydia rolls her eyes as if to say, _please we have done far worse in front of each other._ "I'll show you all the places I used to hang out as a senior," she goes on as if she needs to convince Allison.

"I would love to go on a date with you," Allison smiles and Lydia kisses her softly.

 

After breakfast Lydia changes into a summer dress and the two of them catch a ride with Scott and Danny. They stop at Scott's house first so Allison can change out of last night's clothes and actually brush her teeth. She grabs her messenger bag and her laptop on the way out with a vague plan of maybe getting some work done somewhere in the course of the day.

Lydia is waiting for her outside, leaning against the porch, seemingly content to soak in the sunlight until Allison steps in front of her, casting a shadow over her face. Lydia scowls at her over the rim of her sunglasses.

"So, where are we going?" Allison asks with a grin.

"Well," Lydia pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose. "There's really not much to do, should've considered that beforehand maybe, but it's too late now. We could go hang out in the cafe? And yes, there is only one cafe in this town, I know how sad that sounds."

"Sure, cafe sounds great. Lead the way."

Lydia takes her hand, twining their fingers, and starts walking. It's a peaceful neighborhood, they can hear kids playing somewhere in a backyard and birds are singing in the trees and Lydia's hair glints like copper in the sunlight.

"It's not that long of a walk, don't worry," Lydia says just as they cross over into a more downtown area, shops and offices replacing family houses.

The cafe when they reach it is small and warm, filled with light and the smell of ground coffee. Lydia walks over to a table at the window, putting down her things before turning to Allison.

"Sit," she orders, "I'll get you – a latte?"

"Latte is great, thanks," Allison smiles. She sits in the leather armchair, tucking her bag in beside her.

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr as [twlesbians](http://twlesbians.tumblr.com/)


End file.
